


Size Matters

by queeniegalore



Series: And Run Me Like a River [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Crying, Dirty Talk, Happy Sex Crying, LIGHT body worship, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Mild humiliation kink, Size Difference, Size Kink, hint of background Dorian/Bull, light subspace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-02
Updated: 2017-09-02
Packaged: 2018-12-22 18:14:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11972931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queeniegalore/pseuds/queeniegalore
Summary: “So this is big, huh.” Bull’s voice was soft, almost thoughtful, but his smile was mean. “For a human.”Cullen has a size kink.





	Size Matters

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my twitter cheerleader team for helping me get through this, and thanks EVER SO to musicspeakstoo for the quick and very helpful beta.

“So this is big, huh.” Bull’s voice was soft, almost thoughtful, but his smile was _mean_. “For a human.”

Cullen’s face burned hot, and he looked down at his hard cock, shame bubbling through him as another dab of precome leaked from the fat head. Bull’s thumb was there to swipe it up, hand easily swallowing Cullen’s length and dwarfing him.

Yeah, Cullen was big. For a human.

~

The Bull wasn’t mean.

Oh, he’d deny it, and on the field, certainly - Cullen had heard stories, seen it himself enough times to be able to tell that most of them weren’t even boasts. As a warrior the Iron Bull was formidable, a force of nature that wouldn’t be denied.

But the Bull Cullen had seen in battle and the Bull Cullen knew around Skyhold - in the training yard, the tavern, Cullen’s bed - were two very different beasts. Bull wasn’t _mean_. He was larger than life, friendly to a fault, loud and accommodating and _funny_ , Maker. He was considerate in ways Cullen had never known to expect, and his fingers on the insides of Cullen’s thighs their first night together had rewritten a decade of Cullen’s sexual history in a single stroke. Bull took care where Cullen hadn’t realised there was care to be taken. In the press of his lips and the careful bruises pushed into Cullen’s waist, in the wipe of a wet rag, the slow, slick exploration of a tongue through places Cullen had never even imagined would be _tasted_ , much less enjoyed the way the Bull seemed to enjoy them. Bull took Cullen in ways he’d never expected, and if Cullen were to describe him he’d have a lexicon of words far beyond the scope of a simple Ferelden chantry boy, and mean wouldn’t _ever_ be among them.

His smile, though. When Cullen was almost drowning in shame, and pleasure, and the slow, exquisite rise of humiliation, when Bull took him and took him _apart_ , with whispers and taunts and teasing, biting touches, when Bull took him to places that he hated and craved and loved in equal measures — well then, _then_ , the Iron Bull could be downright nasty.

~

Cullen’s cock, he’d had vague pride to note in his past, was bigger than average. A fair bit bigger, if one were being honest, and if one must acknowledge such things. Cullen wasn’t blessed with an abundance of arrogance, but he had been rather blessed with an abundance of _dick_ , and by thirty one years of age he thought he wore the knowledge well. Like he had vague pride in his height, or the satisfying cut of his muscles, or the ease with which he bested Dorian Pavus at the chess table. One had had...admiration. Soldiers talked. The occasional maiden (and only slightly more than occasional whore) had cooed and gasped and made a fuss. Cullen didn’t need to think of it, _didn’t_ think of it, really, it was just a fact of his life, it informed his gait, his _swagger_ , he supposed. An unfortunate side-effect of being male, that such things even mattered in the slightest.

But matter it had, even if ever so slightly, even if in a vague and sheepish and small corner of his mind, until he’d bedded the Bull and the Bull had dwarfed him in every. single. way.

And Cullen, made small at the hands of a beast who took him in hand with such sweet gentleness, had found the shame came unbidden, and the accompanying arousal was almost _flooring_ in its intensity.

The Iron Bull, who wasn’t mean, but who could _play_ mean the same way he played Cullen like a harp.

~

“Toast of the chantry with this, weren’t you?” Bull’s thumb nudged at Cullen’s cockhead almost idly, pressing into the spongy flesh hard and uncaring, squeezing out more precome, making Cullen jerk and shudder and try to hid his face in his furs, spread out on the bed beneath him.

“The other boys were jealous, I bet. I bet they all whispered about it, behind your back. Bet they all tried to get a look.” Bull sounded casual, and his smile was more a smirk than anything, a twist of his lips, a flash of teeth. “Did you let them look, Commander?”

“I - _Maker_ , Bull, I…” Bull squeezed, his fingers in a tight circle just under the head, and Cullen gasped, hips trying to thrust up and stopped short by Bull’s other hand, pressing him easily back into the bed.

“You did, didn’t you? Oh so casually dropped trou whenever you had the chance, let them look their fill. Did you get hard while they watched, or did you save that for later?”

Cullen squeezed his eyes closed, shook his head. It wasn’t — he hadn’t! Not like that, not the way Bull made it sound — so _sordid_.

Maker, but Bull held him like he was a _toy_ , hand huge around him. Cullen was used to seeing delicate fingers — soft and hesitant as they took him, never _hard_ enough, not really, never like _this_. Small hands that made him look bigger, and here was Bull covering him almost completely and Cullen had never...never felt tiny before.

And the _filth_ spilling out of his mouth, sweet Maker, how was Cullen meant to stand for this? No one had ever spoken to him this way. And no one had ever made him feel this way. Like he was ready to die in the promise of pleasure and humiliation and need.

“Did you stroke this dick, Commander? Wet and sticky in your bedclothes at night, fist desperate around this fat... _little_...cock?”

Cullen arched against the mattress, fighting both Bull’s hold on him and the sudden, overpowering urge to come. Shame and shock burned through his body, stoking his arousal, devouring him from the inside until all he could hear was that _word_ , condescending and mocking and...

 _Little_.

Bull was laughing at him, a soft chuckle as he let go of Cullen’s cock, let it fall with a heavy slap against his belly as he moved his hand away. Every muscle in Cullen’s body was tense and aching with denial. He thought he might come anyway, under nothing but the weight of Bull’s gaze and the echo of his voice. He writhed helplessly on the bed as Bull watched, fingers gripping the covers in desperation, cock _pumping_ fluid now. He’d always made a lot, it was starting to leak down his side, _filthy,_ and _—_

“This,” Bull said, and idly flicked the head of Cullen’s dick with one blunt claw, “is nothing.” He stood and stretched, towering over Cullen like a behemoth. He was still dressed - dressed for the Bull, anyway, which meant trousers, boots, belt, pauldron on his shoulder. It made Cullen feel smaller still, more vulnerable as he lay naked among his furs where Bull had placed him. He resisted the urge to pull his legs up, protect himself. Bull had wanted him laid out, stretched out for him like a feast, and so that was where he would stay.

The Bull was, after all, feeling mean.

"Nothing," Bull repeated, and started working at his belt and pauldron, little of seduction in it, no hint of a tease. Quick, workmanlike movements that occasionally set his muscles straining when he tugged at this or that strap. As he removed each he turned and set them on his table. A soldier took care of his gear, after all. Cullen understood, and also understood that Bull was turning from him deliberately, because in that moment, Bull's leathers were more important. Cullen, after all, would keep.

He shuddered. The Bull could, in fact, keep him there for as long as he fucking wanted and Cullen knew that he would only stay, and stay, and maybe ask sweetly for more.

When Bull turned back, an eternity later, he had a thumb hooked in the front of his trousers, and Cullen could see — Maker, he could see the bulge there, the way it twitched, tented the fabric. He swallowed, unable to tear his gaze away, and Bull was laughing at him again.

"Pride goes before a fall, Commander," he said, almost friendly. "How many times did you indulge in yourself? In the knowledge that you were the biggest in the barracks, in the templar dorms? How many times did you look at another man and know he couldn't match you, how many times, Commander, did you just straight up get _off_ on the size of your own prick?"

Shame rose up, and Cullen felt it starting, then, the tears gathering in his eyes. He knew how red he was, knew how the flush would be staining his face and neck and halfway down his chest. The humiliation of this was almost crippling, and his cock, _Maker_ , was still so hard he almost couldn't breathe from it, afraid the slightest move would set him off. Sweet Andraste, it felt good.

Bull knelt up on the bed, swinging a knee over to straddle Cullen's chest and settle above him. Cullen could _smell_ him, heat and musk, like a man but much more intense. It was dizzying. Cullen found himself closing his eyes and inhaling deeply, barely resisting the urge to strain up and bury his nose in the crease of Bull's thigh, the bulge of his crotch.

Bull put a hand to his face, stroking his jaw before gripping his chin and tilting his head back. Cullen bared his throat without even thinking about it, drunk on the scent, the heat, the arousal and sinking almost completely into whatever Bull wanted him to be. He gazed up at the giant above him and licked his lips.

“I asked you a question, Commander.” Bull’s voice was still deceptively mild, made a lie by the hard press of his fingers. “Do you bring yourself off on your own size? Does it excite you?”

“I—” Cullen licked his lips again, worked his tongue to flood his dry mouth with spit. Images flickered behind his eyes, ghost sensations. His hands fumbling, desperate to get off before anyone noticed, hidden under the blankets or behind half closed doors. _‘Rutherford’s_ hung _. Have you caught an eyeful yet? Must be part horse with a prick like that, don’t know how he manages to swing that thing around all day…’_

“Y-yes.” His voice was rough and needy, no point in hiding it. No point in hiding _any_ of it, not from Bull. “Maker, Bull, _yes._ ”

Laughing again, Bull let go of Cullen’s face and pressed both hands to the front of his own trousers, pulling the fabric tight so that Cullen could see every inch of what was underneath. Huge. Long and thick, _inhuman_ , stretching halfway up Bull’s belly. Maker’s breath, though, it was half the size of Cullen’s _arm_.

“I suppose,” Bull said thoughtfully, fingers framing his cock, “That little cock of yours is alright, for a _human_. I’m gonna show you what a _real_ prick looks like, though. Give you something worth getting off on, huh Commander?”

Cullen blinked up at him, and he knew his lashes were wet, the tears starting to spill. “Please,” he whispered, but please _what,_  he couldn’t have said. Bull made him look like a doll and feel like a raw youth, only playing at being a man and making a poor job of it. He was going to come like a youth too, if he wasn’t careful. Too fast, and all the wrong things were getting him there.

Sweet Andraste, but he could have been happy with the blushing maidens or the practised working girls at the tavern. Instead he craved _this_. The Iron Bull towering over him, every inch of him carved in muscle, wrapped in a thickness that made Cullen’s mouth water. The Bull and the bruises he left smeared into Cullen’s skin, the words that brought the flush to his cheeks and the tears to his eyes and the blood to his traitorous cock.

“Please,” he said again, and Bull pressed a thumb against his lower lip.

“Pretty templar,” he said. “So confused. Can’t handle not being the biggest man in the room?”

Cullen tried to shake his head, but that thumb was pushing into his mouth, the rest of Bull’s fingers curling under his chin to keep him still. And then Bull’s other hand went to the waistband of his own trousers, pushing it down and reaching in. Pulled out his cock, and Cullen’s tears started to fall, his mouth flooded with saliva, and the little triail of pecome dribbling down his side got thicker with a pump of fresh fluid.

_Maker preserve him._

The Bull...was not a human man, and despite the horns, despite the physique, Cullen too often left himself forget that. It was impossible to deny now, though, faced with the evidence scant inches from his face, held casually in Bull’s grip. Cullen reflexively started sucking at the thumb in his mouth, a little desperate, and that reflex was almost as traitorous as the throbbing of his aching cock.

He was very nearly beyond caring.

“Look at this, Commander.” Bull arched over him, body a wall, and replaced his fingers with the thick head of his cock, just rubbing it over Cullen’s lips, not letting it dip in. Cullen moaned.

“Look at this. Smell it. _Taste_ it. Can you do that for me? Taste that cock.” Fingers back on his jaw, holding him still when Cullen hadn't even been aware that he'd been weakly thrashing, trying to get closer. “Lick the- yeah that's it, you know just what to do, eh? You're a natural, look at you.”

Cullen wasn’t, really, a natural. He’d pleasured women this way before and seemed to make an alright go of it, but this did not come easily to him. The awkwardness of his swollen lips and frantically working tongue seemed to amuse Bull, though, or entertain him or - yes, there, the first drops of Bull’s precome, sucked eagerly from the slit, evidence that Cullen was having an effect.

Bull grunted, and his gripping fingers stroked instead, trailing along Cullen’s jaw and scratching through his stubble. “Pretty cocksucker. You’ve been wasted your whole life, you know that? Should hire you as my bed-servant when all this bullshit is done, carry you around with the Chargers trussed up over the back of my saddle and keep you to warm my bedroll at night and suck on my cock whenever I please.”

Cullen...was going to come.

He was the Commander of the most powerful and important army in Thedas, former Knight-Commander of the _Templar Order_ , and he was going to _come_ , untouched, at nothing more the prospect of being treated like a common whore by the filthy Tal Vashoth leader of a ragtag mercenary company.

He twisted his face to the side, gasping for breath against the massive purple head of Bull’s dick. “Please,” he begged, and dug his nails into his own thighs. “Please, Bull, I’m going to - I can’t stop -”

“Ahh.” Bull sounded almost sympathetic, but he rubbed his sticky cockhead over Cullen’s lips and cheeks and chin for a moment longer before casually looking over his shoulder at the state of Cullen’s desperation. “Haven’t got much stamina either, huh Commander? We’ll need to work on that. Not much we can do about the size, but we should be able to stop you popping off like a green recruit at the first taste of a real dick.”

“Bull!”

Bull snorted and reached back, taking a firm grip on the base of Cullen’s dick and squeezing hard, cutting Cullen’s impending orgasm of with no time to spare, as Cullen arched his neck back and almost screamed in frustration.

“Not yet, little Commander,” Bull said, soothing. “‘I’ve got plans for you yet.”

“Maker, Bull, have mercy,” Cullen panted, and his voice was cracking, cheeks wet with tears. “ _Please_.”

Bull paused, grip still tight, and looked carefully at Cullen’s face. “That doesn’t sound like your watchword, Cullen,” he said quietly, and the use of his name instead of his title jolted Cullen a little, brought him back to himself. Further back to himself than he cared to be, if he were honest. “Should it have?”

Cullen took a deep breath. His watchword, as it happened, was ‘battlements.’ Bull had assumed it had something to do with security and building walls around himself, but Cullen had really chosen it because they happened to be out on them at the time the Bull had brought it up. His safeword was ‘battlements,’ and they, in that moment, couldn’t have been further from his mind.

“No,” he said, and his voice wasn’t really any firmer, still rough and reedy and more desperate than he was used to hearing himself sound. He sniffed, blinked up at Bull, didn’t bother trying to stem the flow of tears. “Sweet _Andraste_ Bull, don’t stop.”

“You…” Bull’s smile was softer than it had been, just for a moment, and he swiped a thumb under Cullen’s left eye, gathering up his tears. “You look so fucking good like this, pretty little templar. Wrecked and helpless under me. Letting me break you down and play with what’s left.”

“All yours, Bull,” Cullen sobbed, and pushed his cheek into Bull’s hand, craving his touch, his warmth. “Bull, Bull…”

“Yeah, Commander, pretty, pretty, look at this.” The Bull’s words were nonsense, low and soothing as he shifted back on the bed to straddle Cullen's thighs. “Open your pretty eyes, Commander, look at this.”

Cullen hadn't realised his eyes were closed. He blinked them open, staring dumbly at Bull’s face for a moment — lined and scarred and _beautiful —_ before flicking his gaze down. And that - _that_ -

The Bull’s cock, laid out next to his own and held down flat against Cullen's stomach with one of Bull’s massive hands. Balls nestled against Cullen’s heavier, fuller, his long prick stretching out so far beyond where Cullen's ended that it made his head spin, shocked a gasp from his threat. Up to his navel, and Bull was leaking now too, leaving wet, sticky smears that mixed with the mess Cullen had already made.

“Do you see?” Bull asked, taking them both in hand and stroking lightly, rubbing them together. “How small you really are? A toy, Commander, just a pretty toy for me to play with.” He rolled his hips, rubbed his thick cockhead up the length of Cullen's shaft.

Cullen had no inhibitions left to lose, but the intensity of this pleasure, like lightning sparking through his blood, made him cry out in a low, hoarse roar, neck arched painfully as he set his whole body to resisting the orgasm threatening to explode out of him.

“Please, please, please,” he chanted, as Bull pumped his hips in a crude imitation of fucking, wet cock sliding against Cullen's, balls slapping against his, almost bruising, too rough, too good, too _much_. “I'm begging you, please…”

“Yeah,” Bull ducked his head, too tall to catch Cullen's mouth but pressing his lips to his cheekbones, his temple. “That's it, that's perfect, stay right there for me and take it like you _need_. Little Commander, little templar, good little whore-”

He broke off with a deep groan of his own, twisted to get his mouth high on Cullen's neck and worry the skin between his teeth, and Cullen _screamed_ . He was coming, he couldn't stop it this time, it was like trying to hold back the tide, an avalanche, the force of the Iron Bull’s will. He was coming and begging and crying in a mess of tears and sweat and Bull, _oh_ , Bull was telling him _yes_ , telling him to finally let _go_.

It lasted for an age, an eternity of pleasure so intense it almost hurt. Somewhere in there, Cullen knew, Bull peaked as well, spilling his seed all over Cullen's belly and cock and balls, painting him with a mess twice the size of Cullen's own spend, yet another way for the Bull to dwarf him. Cullen revelled in it, in the filth of it, the debauchery and that incredible, overwhelming pleasure. He burrowed his face in his furs as it flowed, threatening to carry him under, and then died away, slowly draining from him and taking the tension caught in his muscles with it.

Bull slid off and to the side, stretched out along his body and ran a gentle claw through the mess, the pad of his finger up the exhausted length of Cullen's gently softening cock, making him twitch and squirm.

“I _adore_ this,” Bull said, voice warm, a little breathless. He chuckled ruefully. “Cullen Rutherford, hung like a damn druffalo.”

Cullen snorted and squeezed his eyes shut. He was still drifting.

“You still under, Cullen? Not ready to come back to me yet?”

Cullen nodded. He liked this part, too, after all the fuss and excitement. Bull using his name, petting him, bringing him down back into himself.

“Talk to me, please,” he murmured, throat satisfyingly sore. “If you would.”

“Ever so polite.” Bull laughed and swept a thumb up Cullen's side to make him shy away, ticklish. “Covered in my come and you still say please.”

“Mm,” Cullen sighed and stretched, cracked his eyes open to take in Bull’s face, his smile. “You like it when I'm polite.”

“I like it when you're anything,” Bull acknowledged. He tapped the head of Cullen's dick one more time, gathered up a few drops of fluid to bring up to his tongue. Cullen watched him taste it, and wished he were ten years younger. “I like this.”

Cullen sat up, with effort, and tried to shake the cobwebs from his head. There would be water nearby. Bull handed him the flask with another smile, and then, when he was done, a rag for cleaning.

“You only like me for my cock,” Cullen said dryly, watching Bull watching it. He was joking but Bull, as it happened, _had_ always been fascinated with Cullen's size. Delighted.

Big, for a human.

“I do like your cock,” Bull agreed, and drank some water, tipping his head back and showing off the thickness of his neck, the impossible muscles in his shoulders. “Though I wonder...no.”

Cullen knew he was being baited, and furrowed his brow anyway. He was thoroughly back to himself now, but still lazy, overcome with lassitude. Wrecked, to put it simply. Which was the standard state of affairs, after a night with Bull.

“What do you wonder?”

Bull set the flask aside and tilted his head, regarding Cullen thoughtfully. “I mean you're big, there's no denying it, and without a direct comparison I can't be _sure_ , but I think maybe…”

He grinned, and Cullen shivered, because the grin? Was _nasty_.

“Dorian’s bigger.”

 _Oh_.

Cullen's cock twitched again, desperately trying to come back to life as his cheeks flooded red with blood. _Dorian's bigger_. The Bull would know, of course, _that_ wasn't a secret, but…

 _Dorian's bigger_.

Cullen swallowed, shot Bull a look from under his lashes. Bull, who was looking incredibly pleased with himself.

“That,” Cullen said, his voice dry. “Was mean.”

Bull winked. It looked ridiculous.

“You like me when I'm mean.”

And Maker help him, but Cullen did.

**Author's Note:**

> Come hang with me on twitter! I'm queencognito and I love you all.


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